


Couch

by IneffableFangirl_writes



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, I have a theory about Fox Mulder and his couch, so i made a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableFangirl_writes/pseuds/IneffableFangirl_writes
Summary: I have a theory about why Mulder doesn't have a bed, so I made a fic about it.Taken from the backlog of fic on my computer. Brought to you by quarantine-anxiety.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Couch

Making out on a sofa was all well and good. Teenagers did it, adults did it, hell people grandmothers probably did it. But when it came to sex, Dana Scully preferred a bed. She liked the room to roll around and not that it was anyone’s business, but she liked having bedposts. There was nothing to grab onto or tie something to on a couch. Not that it was anyone’s business.

And yes, the first time or two on Mulder’s couch were pleasurable. She enjoyed them, and there was something nice about falling asleep so entangled that she couldn’t detach her body from his. However, after a time, a person wanted their own space without their skin sticking to someone else’s...regardless of their emotional attachment to their counterpart. In plain terms meaning, Scully wanted to be able to sleep in her own bed without having Mulder’s sweaty form pasted to her own. As much as she cared for him and liked sleeping with him nearby, sleeping on top of or under or squashed up against him was not an agreeable substitute. 

“Mulder?”

“Mmm?” he already sounded drowsy, though it was only 7 and Jeopardy was on the glowing screen in front of them. 

“Why don’t you have a bed?”

He seemed to wake up a little at the question and he regarded her through half-closed lids, eyes heavy with sleep. 

“What?”

“You have a couch but no bed. Doesn’t that seem...odd to you?”

“How many abductions do you think we’ve investigated, Scully?”

“I don’t know, plenty. What does that have to do with your couch?”

“Do you know the statistics on where people are abducted from?”

“No, Mulder. I don’t.” She seemed to have accepted that he was going to steer the conversation away from its intended destination.

“Cars are only common because people notice when they have missing time. They notice lights in the sky when they’re driving down dark roads. What’s most common is home abductions.”

“Like Samantha,” Scully said quietly.

Mulder swallowed, not acknowledging her comment.

“What’s most common is being abducted from a bed, usually while the abductee is sleeping. Often they think that the experience was a dream and only consider an alternative possibility when strange things begin to happen or they notice marks on themselves.”

Pulling her lower lip into her mouth, Scully bit it to avoid saying anything for a moment. Statistically, humans spent nearly half of their lives in a bed of some kind. Naturally, this statistic would hold true among supposed abductees as well as the general population. Humans were also much more prone to suggestion when awakening or going to sleep. Despite her scientific mind’s protest of a thousand logical explanations for this trend, he was looking at her with those big green eyes and she couldn’t say them, not while he was open and vulnerable. 

“I haven’t found an abduction report yet of someone who was taken from their couch.”

Forcing herself to keep her voice level, Scully placed a hand on his stubbly cheek.

“What are the reports of abductions from sleeping in your partner’s bed?”

“There aren’t any,” Mulder said, and the corner of his mouth twitched, the possibility of a smile.

“So there’s a statistical precedence set.”

“I guess you could say that.”

Sitting up, she took his hand in one of her own and reached for the TV remote with the other. Off clicked the Daily Double. 

“I propose then that we move to a safer location.”

She could tell that he was biting the inside of his cheek and she didn’t say anything, waited for him to collect himself. 

“I’ll get my bag.”

Standing, he turned into the bathroom and began shuffling around in there, leaving her momentarily alone with the couch. Running a hand over it, she wondered what other strange safeguards Mulder had built into his life. It broke her a little to think that he avoided owning a bed in fear of vanishing as surely as his sister had. 

“I need to pick up my suit from the 24-hour cleaners, and drop this one off.” In jeans and a raggedy t-shirt that read ‘Pink Floyd’, he was every inch the man she had unexpectedly fallen for, complete with a metal wire hanger with his FBI-wear --a jacket and slacks dangling from it. 

“Sure we can stop there.”

She wasn’t thinking about the dry cleaning, even as her eyes skimmed over his living room. Basketball, computer, fish tank, couch, TV, clutter; how much of who he was centered around what had been done to him? 

“You okay, Scully?”

“I’m fine.” An automatic response, but mostly true this time. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

As he locked his apartment, he paused to look at her.

“The Kalahari.”

“What?”

“Today’s Daily Double.”

Rolling her eyes, she felt a rush of affection for this impossible man. Whatever else he was, he was hers. 


End file.
